


Kill Your Heroes

by fulmiinata



Category: Free!
Genre: Action Violence, I'm trying to use proper tags help, Most of these characters are actually villains, Multi, Psst Haru only fights for FREEdom lol oh god that's a terrible joke, Superheroes, Villains, lol whoops, sort of don't worry about it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2017-12-27 00:31:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fulmiinata/pseuds/fulmiinata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haru is a veteran superhero who isn’t quite sure he likes what he does, the ‘killer whale’ inside Makoto is starting to drive him closer and closer to the villain side of the street, and Nagisa, the mischievous newbie, seems to be constantly rescuing poor unfortunate civilian Rei. </p><p>Add super villain Rin, his sidekick Nitori, his ‘ally’ Seijuurou, and yes, Iwatobi is officially <i>fucked.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Normal Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah so here is my superhero AU, because every fandom needs at least _one_ amirite? There's also Free!dom Fighters by Aislashu, so check that one out too if you want :)
> 
> Just something to know:  
> *Iwatobi is a seaside city here, kind of like Seattle minus the constant rain and pot.
> 
>  
> 
>  **Track No. 1** Into the Ocean | Blue October

_When you’re 10, they call you a prodigy._

“All right, now if you could just clip that mic onto the front of your shirt there,” the woman pointed to Haruka’s chest.

Haru stared blankly at the small microphone in his hand, before looking back up at the woman sitting next to a large camera. Her legs were crossed, a a gentle smile on her face. She didn’t look at all affected by the bright lights set up around them, which were causing Haruka to squint.

“Why am I here again?”

“We’re making a documentary. About those that protect our city.”

Of course. _That’s_ what this was all about. Haru didn’t understand why people were so _fascinated_ by him and his life. It wasn’t even like he asked for this — he’d just been in the right place at the right time with the right people watching, and boom, here he was.

Without another word the raven clipped the mic to his T-shirt, which he was only wearing because the lady insisted he needed something for the mic to attach to. Otherwise, he’d just be wearing his jammers. He pulled a little at the neckline; he never liked wearing clothes in this state — they restricted his flow, hence his preference for partial nudity.

“Good, good. Thank you. Remember to look at me and not at the camera. So, could you say your name?”

Haru narrowed his eyes a little at the question. “Don’t you already know?” he deadpanned.

The woman — what was her name? Right, Kisha. — bit at the inside of her cheek, clearly irritated. She uncrossed then recrossed her legs. “It’s for the sake of the viewers.” she said.

With a sigh, Haru replied, “Hydro. My name is Hydro.”

“Okay, and tell me, how did you come up with that name?”

“I didn’t. The public named me.”

_When you’re 15, they call you a genius._

“Fair enough,” Kisha peered down at the papers in her hand, marked with questions and notes. “Why do you think they named you that, of all things?”

 _As if you don’t know_ , Haru wanted to say, but he was sure that was a statement his grandmother would categorize as ‘rude’ before smacking him upside the head. “I’m hydrokinetic. I manipulate water in any way I want.”

“Really?” Haru decided the surprise that Kisha’s voice held was fake. The reasoning behind Haru’s name was common knowledge in Iwatobi. “Amazing.”

Haruka shrugged, not making eye contact. “I guess.”

“So,” Kisha leaned her slim, petite body forward ever so slightly. “Do you, as our resident hero, also have a secret identity?” The glimmer in her eyes suggested genuine interest.

_But once you hit 20, you’re just an ordinary person._

“Of course,” Haru resisted the urge to roll his eyes, although it was difficult. “It’s too much work, being expected to be super all the time.” he would’ve added, No one wants that burden, but that too seemed rude, if not completely inappropriate.  

“I assume, then, when you’re not out rescuing civilians from dangerous situation, that you are assuming this secret identity?”

“...Yes.” The second Haru donned his school uniform or any other article of clothing besides those black and purple jammers, he just became Haruka Nanase, 17 year old junior in high school. If it was up to him, though, he’d be Haruka Nanase all the time.

_What I wouldn’t give to be ordinary._

  
  


**KILL YOUR HEROES**

1

  
  


“Grandma,” called Haru upon opening the front door. He kicked off his blue Vans, and simultaneously stripped out of both his jeans and sweatshirt, leaving them all in a heap at the entrance. Left in only his jammers, Haru hastened his way to the kitchen, parched.

“I’m home.” he said, stopping in front of a picture sitting on a shelf. Depicted on it was his late grandmother, sitting in a 3/4 position to the camera. She was smiling, her eyes crinkling at the corners. From what Haru remembered, his dad used to smile the same way.

 

— あなた自身のヒーローに —

 

Haru’s grandmother, his only relative in the area, took him in when he was just six years old, right after his parents drowned at sea. Haru was with them, that day they went out boating, but while he watched with frightened eyes as the ocean curled its fingers around his mother and father to drag them down, it only lapped at him, harmlessly like a dog. He clutched on the sailboat’s wreckage for dear life, waiting for a death that never came.

Another boat had seen the young boy bobbing along the waves on a piece of boat that said _The Rockhopper_ , and pulled him to safety. Haru refused to speak of what had happened, only showing emotion when his grandma walked into his hospital room, arms stretched wide and smelling of apples. If Haru’s memory served him right, that was the next to last time he cried.

The last time was almost three years ago, when he was in his final year of middle school. His grandmother had contracted cancer, so advanced there was almost nothing the doctors could do about it. She passed quickly, not in a hospital bed to Haru’s relief, because he’d hated them ever since he was little, but in her own.

Haru remembered her patting him on the cheek, holding his hand, saying, “I hate to leave so suddenly, Haruka—” she was the only one allowed to call him that, “—but I hope you’ll forgive me. I love you. Be a good boy, and don’t waste your talents.” She had whispered that last part to him, like they were sharing a secret, even though no one else was in the room and Haru had no idea what she was talking about. Nevertheless, Haru allowed himself to cry, in the privacy of his own home and with his grandmother, which offered more security than even the water — ironically, his refuge.

It was not two months later, though, that Haru found out what talents his grandmother spoke of.

The day had been cloudy, promising rain. Ever since her passing, Haru moped, becoming even more apathetic and withdrawn, driving away those who offered their condolences. It was in front of a fountain that Haru had been lounging, hood pulled low to shadow his face, when some high schoolers began to harass him without reason.

“Look at this kid. I heard he lives alone,” sneered one of them, tall and with a ruddy face.

A second laughed mockingly. “What, mommy and daddy didn’t want you?”

At first Haruka had dismissed them, acting as though they weren’t even there. His behavior did nothing to put them off, however, and they only prodded more and more. When one of them even went so far as to shove Haruka’s shoulder, his facade broke.

“Leave me alone,” he growled, low in his throat and threatening.

“Or what? You gonna tell your mommy?”

“Hate to break it to ya, kid, but she doesn’t care!”

“I said,” Haru’s voice began to increase in volume. He’d clenched and unclenched his fists several times, trying to appease that tug in his core, but with no avail. He felt like something was swirling inside, angry and powerful, ready to burst against a dam of stoicism. “Leave. Me. _Alone_.”

A very poor decision, it was, when those high schoolers didn’t heed Haruka’s warning. They  continued to laugh in his face, and Haruka was done.

He swung his fist, with all of his weight behind it, but something else to. The fountain, which normally bubbled and sprayed happily, had been churning right along with Haru’s anger, and when let loose, the water followed. Haru wasn’t completely sure what happened — he couldn’t honestly tell you if he tried — but one second those boys were jeering at him, and the next they were in the fountain, sopping wet and with frightened looks on their faces.

Around them, people gossipped.

“Did you see?”

“The _water_ —it just grabbed those kids!”

“Don’t talk nonsense—”

“It was like that kid controlled it, the smaller one—”

The taller one, who’d initiated the entire encounter, stood up, wiping off excess water from his face. “You’re a freak, dude.”

“Let’s get out of here!” cried the second.

They scrambled out of the one-again bubbling waters of the fountain, leaving Haru both confused and strangely lighter, like an immense weight had been lifted from his chest.

He’d ignored both the feeing and the incident, until another few months passed and Haru found himself at the beach on a particularly hot day. The sun blazed down on the city, creating a leisure mood that didn’t quite reach the ocean. It was rough and restless, large blue-green waves crashing onto the shore.

Haruka often found solace in the ocean, a sense of calm and comfort he didn’t get at his empty house anymore.

“Help! Someone help, please!” A woman screamed, frantically waving her arms and pointing out to the water. “My daughter, she’s drowning!”

Any sane person would have sat and watched in horror while a lifeguard rushe in to rescue the victim, but Haruka felt drawn, like he should help or do _something_. Before he knew it, the black-haired teen was at the edge of the water, the tug in his core back and his heart churning.

He’d stretched out his hand, and slowly curled his fingers inward. The waves, previously large and disobeying, suddenly obliged, flowing back towards Haru. The girl, who had been coughing and sputtering as the waves pulled her down then pushed her back up, was carried in, right to Haru’s arms. By some miracle of nature the water had risen in a column, wrapping the girl in its embrace and placing her in the outstretched arms of the boy.

People cheered, rushing to Haru’s side and bombarding him with questions: how did he do it, was it magic, was he the second coming of Jesus Christ, questions Haru himself couldn’t answer. Somehow, a reporter had documented the whole thing, and by the next morning Haruka was all over the news:

**Local Boy Manipulates Ocean to Rescue Drowning Child**

It was only by pure coincidence that there was no clear picture of Haru’s face, and no one at the beach even knew his name. It was only because of that that his existence was still peaceful, that plain old Haruka Nanase was still just that, a plain old boy.

Hydro, on the other hand, was born. He was like Haruka in many ways — dark-haired and blue-eyed, cool and reserved — but completely different at the same time. While Haruka Nanase was apathetic, Hydro had compassion. Haruka was closed-off and of few words, Hydro opened up and even smiled sometimes. Haruka, the lonely boy with the weight on his chest, would never have continued to save people, would have let his talents go to waste, but Hydro, the one who suddenly felt lighter and free, heeded his grandmother’s words and put those talents to good use.

_The water is alive, and with it I’m alive._

 

— あなた自身のヒーローに —

 

Haru frowned at his thoughts, twisting the cap off the water bottle with ease.

_There was some weird stuff going through my head, back then._

The beginning of his entire ‘career’ as a hero wasn’t a memory he brought up often; in fact, he never brought it up at all. He’d been in a weird place in his life, and if Haruka had the grip on himself back then that he had now, he honestly would never have continued on such an endeavor.

It had been so easy, to do those things without a reason. Saving people, becoming this hero-persona that the rest of Iwatobi believed he was, it was something he _wanted_ to do, that he _liked_ to do. He had never really needed a reason, and had never questioned why he did what he did.

Haru chugged down the entire bottle of water in a single breath, wiping away at what little had dribbled down the corners of his mouth. He sighed, and supported his weight against the kitchen counter, eyes drifting to the ceiling. They slid closed.

 _Why_ do _I save people?_


	2. Where My Demons Hide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: this was originally something I submitted to marukaprompts on tumblr but ended up writing myself. Another fun fact: I've tried to link her back to it, but my messages won't go through? Would any of you mind doing that for me, pretty please? I've tried to do it more than once but I don't think she got any of them...
> 
> Um if anyone wanted to know, that Japanese I use as a line break says "be your own hero", but I used Google Translate, so it's probably some kind of incorrect. If you know how to fix it, tell me? 
> 
> Enjoy~
> 
>  
> 
>  **Track No. 2** Demons | Imagine Dragons

The worst ones were the ones that felt like panic attacks.

One minute he would be fine, talking to his family, playing video games, doing homework, and the next his body would shake uncontrollably, sweaty and nauseous. The clenching of his heart was unbearable — Makoto felt like he might die, and he was _scared._

‹ It’s boring as shit in here. ›

‹ I’m done playing nice. ›

‹ My turn. ›

A flash of white, an wave of emotion engulfing him — that was all it took, and when the wave receded, taking him with it, Makoto found himself in a place he was all-too familiar with.

His mind was frightening place. It was dark and black, small white dots like stars swirling around him. Makoto knew enough to just stay put in front of the wall and not to venture out any farther. If he did, he would be confronted by his worst fears; ghosts, snakes, cramped places, _the sea_ , dying. Here, they roamed freely, inescapable once he encountered them no matter how far he ran.

The switches were never consensual — Makoto was always pushed to the side, sucked in by the other one to take his place. He forced his way out, demanded to be on the outside for a change. He always insisted that Makoto was too weak to be the dominant force, that it was no wonder his strength was halved when he was in control. ‹ How do you expect to be strong when you don’t attack? › He always said, and Makoto could practically envision him throwing his head back into that cruel sneer of his.

They only met face to face once, when Makoto was 11. It was literally like looking in a mirror. They had the same hair color, eye color, height and probably weight, but where Makoto’s eyebrows turned up a bit, and his eyes dropped down in a permanently kind expression, his eyebrows were drawn together in a condescending, mocking way, eyes cold and narrow.

‹ You look too much like me, › his green eyes — they weren’t Makoto’s, not in the slightest because his eyes couldn’t possibly be that cold — traveled over Makoto in scrutiny. ‹ I’d hate to share the same reflection as you, but since I can’t get any surgery without a proper body, this’ll have to do. › He ran a hand through forelocks that mirrored Makoto’s own, pushing them off of his forehead and exposing those cold peridot orbs even more.

‹ Oh yeah, the name’s Mako—don’t forget it. ›

  
  


**KILL YOUR HEROES**

**2**

 

_clink._

Makoto sighed at the cracks webbed in the glass he held. He’d gripped it too hard again — this was the third glass in a week.

He looked around the kitchen to make sure no one was around to see him, and when it was evident that nobody was present, focused his attention back on the glass. In his mind he imagined the glass whole again, pristine and crack-free. His fingers tingled, warmth flooding from the tips into the cup. Instantly the glass reverted to its previous state, the cracks melting away like nothing at all happened.

A small grin presented itself on Makoto’s face. He set the glass down on the counter, where it sat waiting as the brunette went to get the carton of orange juice in the fridge.

‹ Was that supposed to impress me? ›

‹ So you clenched your fingers a bit and almost broke a cup—it’s still nothing compared to me. ›

 _Stop it._ Makoto’s head began to hurt, and he gulped. There were certain symptoms that came before a switch — headache was one of them. This one was particularly bad, the kind that had Makoto taking a day off from school because his head absolutely throbbed and he was in a cold sweat. On days like this, Makoto’s resistance against his other half was akin to trying to put together two magnets on the wrong poles.

_Don’t do this now, please._

‹ And why should I listen to you? You have no power over me. ›

As if proving a point, an exceptionally strong flux of pain assaulted Makoto’s entire body, forcing him to lean on the kitchen counter for support. He pressed fingers into his temples, inhaling deeply through his nose.

The front door creaked open.

“Niichan!”

_Ren and Ran are home. You can’t — you promised._

‹ Tch, stupid kids always ruining my fun. ›

“Niichan!” Ran peeked into the kitchen, her timid eyes opposing her lighthearted tone. Ren popped in just below her sharing the same timid expression.

Makoto rubbed at his eye with the heel of his hand. He blinked once, twice, to get a better look at his siblings even though they were not ten feet away.

‹ Get a better prescription already, won’t you? Don’t mistreat my body. ›

 _At least say_ our _body._

Slipping his arms around one of Makoto’s legs, Ren asked, “Is Niichan feeling better? Or does your head still hurt?”

“No, I’m fine,” Makoto smiled down at his brother and fluffed his brown bowl cut. “But I am a little tired. I think I’ll take a nap, but I can still help you with your homework after if you want.”

The young boy shook his head no, before grabbing an apple from the bowl on the table and bouncing into the living room, his sister following suit. Makoto could hear them unzip their backpacks and take out their schoolwork, which would without a doubt be spread messily about the coffee table in five minutes’ time.

 

— あなた自身のヒーローに —

 

“C’mon Tachibana! A guy like you has gotta pack some punch!” Isamu’s foot dug once more into Makoto’s ribs.

Makoto lay on the ground, covering his face with his hands and curling into himself. Out of nowhere Isamu had punched him square in the face, bending Makoto’s nose in a way that noses should never bend unless they were broken. The brunette had stumbled back, blood trailing from his nostril into his mouth, the metallic taste sharp on his tongue. Isamu punched him again, in the gut, hard enough to actually send Makoto crumpling to the ground.

He could hear his other half protesting loudly against the abuse, fists pounding angrily against the wall in Makoto’s mind that usually kept him at bay. Behind his clenched eyes Makoto saw the cracks slowly forming in the wall, the dull ache in his head becoming more and more insistent.

There was a flash of white.

The hands that previously covered Makoto’s bruised and bleeding countenance curled into fists.

By some unseen force, Makoto felt like someone had grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled forcefully, dragging him into that same dark star-studded room. _Hey!_ he cried out, but his voice carried off into nothing, trailing off into ribbons of silence. _No, no please! Please don’t do this!_

“I’ll do what I want.” Mako’s reply came in a low growl, inaudible to anyone except his better half, hidden away at that dark corner of his mind.

Isamu pulled his foot back again, and swung it forward to meet the back of his victim’s head—

—when he suddenly found himself face-first in the dirt. There was strong, almost bone-crushing grasp on his ankle that dragged him up off the ground.

“You know, I really don’t like it when people think it’s okay to just,” Mako tightened his grip, throwing Isamu straight back down. “Hurt me.”

“W-What the hell, Tachibana?” Isamu’s face was frightened, his eyes wide. He frantically wiped at the blood trickling out of the corner of his lips and shuffled backwards from Mako’s slow, intimidating approach. “The fuck happened to you?”

His eyes cold and his smile cruel, Mako wrapped his hand around Isamu’s neck, tight enough to bruise. With a slow exhale he imagined the black aura of injury leaving his body and invading that of the trembling boy’s instead, shooting out like darts. He could practically feel the bone of his nose straightening, sliding perfectly into place as he watched Isamu’s nose mirror what his was doing, but in a rewind. Without laying a single finger on his face the smaller teen’s nose bent and shifted, breaking if his cries were anything to go by.

There was a tensing in the muscles of Mako’s arm, a buildup of lactic acid that one would usually experience after an intense workout.

From behind the wall came Makoto’s anguished plea of, _Please,_ please _don’t hurt him. He doesn’t deserve it!_

“You’re weak of heart, you know. You’re the submissive alter, the one that should be living within the confines of the mind.” Mako stared into Isamu’s frightened black eyes, unwavering, but his words were for another.

Mako’s muscles coiled again, itching to release their astounding strength.

“Hopefully this will teach you to keep your hands to yourself, Isamu.”

Mako crushed the kid’s neck.

 

— あなた自身のヒーローに —

 

For a guy like Rin, Australia was perfect. Dry hot air, sweltering temperatures — what more could a firestarter want?

(Friends, maybe.)

When Rin was nine and accidentally set fire to a small patch of grass in his front lawn, his mom wasn’t mad or even disappointed; she just sighed like she knew this was coming. She held him by the wrists and looked into his red eyes that matched her own, and with a soft firm voice told him to never do that again.

When Rin was ten and accidentally singed off some of his little sister’s hair, his mom wasn’t mad or even disappointed. She just sighed like it was as natural for big brothers to burn off their little sisters’ hair off with only their hands as it was for the sun to shine. But she still held him by the wrists and looked into his red eyes that matched her own, and with a soft firm voice told him to never do that again.

When Rin was 11 and accidentally converted his homework to ashes instead of converting fractions to decimals, his mom wasn’t mad or even disappointed. She just sighed like it had been a long day that was just getting longer. Once again she held him by the wrists and looked into his red eyes that matched her own, and with a soft firm voice told him to never do that again.

When Rin was 12 and accidentally sent his entire math class into flames in a fit of anger, his mom wasn’t mad or even disappointed. She just sighed like it was the last thing preventing her from crying, the tears already brimming in her eyes. For the last time she held him by the wrists and looked into his red eyes that matched her own, and with a soft wavering voice told him there was a special school for boys and girls like him.

And there was, in Sydney. The James Institution for Exceptionally Gifted Youth, which taught both the academically gifted and the gifted in other areas; it just so happened that PE meant something different for each group.

Within the first week Rin fell in love with the place. The outside environment was perfect for him — no longer did he feel drowned and congested under the heavy, salty ocean air of Iwatobi when the lack of humidity and heat in Australia made him feel lighter and more energized than ever. The school itself was amazing as well. He learned what it was about his body that produced such high levels of heat and combusted so readily and he learned how to control it properly. He learned that it was emotions and their energy that further fueled the powers of the elemental kids, kids who could hold water in their hands as easily as holding an apple and kids who could make a breeze that only they could feel. He learned that yes, the math program offered Algebra for sixth graders and that yes, he could replace that Language Arts class with it instead if he really wanted.

By the second week Rin realized that he was no longer special.

Back home, there was no one who could do what he did, no one who could start a fire in their palm like he could. But here, everyone could do that, if not something similar — Sean from America made lightning crackle between his fingers, that Mexican girl Lorena bent metal like Play-Doh, Amadi from Ghana changed the weather as easily it was to change clothes, and his own roommate Ethan was something he called ‘cryokinetic’. Here, Rin was ordinary. It was nice at first, but after a while it became more and more frustrating that he couldn’t actually get a ‘wow’ out of people anymore.

That, and the fact that Rin was literally the only firestarter in the whole school, made for a very sucky time. Not only did people not appreciate his constant need for warmth (he and Ethan had had some... _heated_ discussions over what the thermostat’s setting should be), but History class had done nothing but cement the fact that pyrokinetics had a bad rap. Forest Fires, America’s Chicago Fire ( _fuck you_ , Mrs. O’Leary), third-degree burn victims — all in a day’s work for people like Rin.

Sure he had friends (Ethan), but even they acted a little jumpy and a little awkward around him, like Rin might just burst into flame at any second and start running rampant, setting fire to anything he touched. A tempting scenario, because Rin was perfectly capable of doing it if he tried and was okay with not having his arm and leg hair grow back for two weeks, but highly unlikely. It was only in PE that anyone touched him out of their own free will, albeit reluctantly.

When Rin was 13 and accidentally let himself get put out by some Chinese water-kid, his peers weren’t mad or even disappointed. They just laughed like it was the funniest thing they’d seen in weeks. They laughed and laughed at sopping wet Rin , some telling him that firestarters always burned out too quickly, and others telling him that he could never be a hero with stunts like that.

And it was at that moment that Rin, sopping wet Rin, crying Rin, angry Rin, decided that he wasn’t going to be a hero at all, if it meant being with people like them. These kinds of people made a strong plume of heat flare out in his core, a kind of anger that he would only be able to let out through the fire in his hands.

These kinds of people made Rin decide:

“I quit being nice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many of you found at least two puns in this chapter? Hehehe. 
> 
> Let's see, anything important? Well, since Rin canonically shaves off what I assume is the majority of his body hair in the show, whenever he goes into a full-body flame thing he ends up burning off the majority of his body hair in the story. I just like incorporating little weird details like that, idk :P
> 
> Also, on this weird soundtrack I have at the top there's gonna be a lot of Imagine Dragons bc I can't get enough of them bless their hearts
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	3. All I Know At the End of the Day Is the Love to Smile Now, Even If That’s Fake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why does everyone rescue little girls?
> 
>  
> 
>  **Track No. 3** Hair | The Early November

“Shut _up_ , Nanami!” growled Nadeshiko, wavy blonde hair obscuring her eyes as she leaned over the dinner table. To anyone else the comment might have seemed completely bonkers, because Nanami hadn’t even said anything, but for the Hazuki family it was completely and utterly normal. Not because they were crazy, of course, but telepathic daughters often found it more fun to tease their sisters without words than with.

A spoon flew up and struck Nanami in the forehead.

Without so much as glancing up, Mrs. Hazuki sipped at her water and aid, “Nadeshiko you are twenty-four years old, please do not abuse your sister with the silverware. Nanami, I still know exactly what it is you’re telling Nadeshiko. Remember girls, no powers at the table.”

The two girls huffed, returning their attention to the food in front of them. Nanami stabbed at her mashed potatoes, pink eyes narrowing at the lump of white. “Why are we eating this? Mashed potatoes are a _Western_ food. Totally ghetto.” whined the dark-haired girl.

“If you don’t like it,” muttered Nadeshiko under her breath, spearing a green bean, “Then make your own food, dumbass.”

“That’s _it!_ ” Nanami stood up so quickly her chair fell and lunged at her older sister. She flew cleanly over the table and right onto Nadeshiko, grabbing at her hair.

Family dinner at the Hazuki household, held once every two weeks, was always an interesting experience. The maintenance of limbs, teeth, or original facial composition was never guaranteed for those involved, since a fight almost always broke out at each one. Last time, Naoki, the second oldest, recounted stories of Nadeshiko’s trysts out loud, much thanks to her knowledge replication, which lead to a very heated cat fight between them.

It seemed that the conflict only arose between any of the three older sisters, however, and never with Nagisa, the youngest and only other male Hazuki. If anything he was the only one who actively tried to diffuse the arguments between his siblings, with cheerful jokes and interesting stories in hopes of changing the subject or drawing attention away from the potential danger.

“Shiko-chan! Nami-chan! Stop fighting!” cried Nagisa, waving his hand erratically. “You—you’ll spoil your appetite!” he laughed nervously.

“Just quit, Nagisa.” Naoki leaned back in her chair and sighed, full from the meal. She watched as her parents got up and forcibly pulled the two girls apart. “They can’t even hear you.”

Nagisa’s face fell, and he sat back down. Why couldn’t his sisters just get along?

  
  


**KILL YOUR HEROES**

3

  
  


The suit hung in the back of Nagisa’s closet, inside one of those garment bags, the black kind, where no one would see it. It was a pale gray, tight and form-fitting but not restrictive of his movements, with a lightning bolt in the center of the chest. In a Nike shoe box that looked completely unsuspicious and nondescript in _any_ way were his gold boots, reaching about mid-calf, gloves, and matching gold shorts. He’d made the suit himself, and was damn proud of it. Hours of painstaking work and dedication finally paid off the moment he put on the suit, a feeling that just felt _right_ washing over him.

In terms of experience, Nagisa was still fairly new at heroism, but the way he handled it it felt like something the blonde was just born to do. He remembered not one year ago seeing Hydro, his idol, take down a villain with absolute ease, and realizing that they weren’t so different after all. Growing up Nagisa thought his powers were normal, ordinary even, because as far as he knew everyone had them — his sisters, his parents, but Hydro convinced him otherwise. Those powers were special, something to be embraced and lived up to their full potential.

Nadeshiko didn’t care much for her telekinesis or her mind control abilities. She’d stated many times before that they were nothing but a hindrance and that she didn’t need to depend on them to make a living like some other people did, thusly going to college to become an architect. Naoki was sort of the opposite, deciding that knowledge replication was something to be taken advantage of, milked for all it had. Same with Nanami and her enhanced intelligence and telepathy. Out of all of them, Nagisa was the only one who wanted to do something more with his powers, something that didn’t just help him but others.

Nagisa’s abilities were the only ones in his family that were tangible, not mentally-oriented. He loved the feeling of electricity crackling between his fingers, the way he could roll it into a ball in the palm of his hand. Sometimes, if he concentrated hard enough, he would find himself sucked into the current of it, in the telephone wires, and suddenly end up somewhere different. It felt like swimming. Other times, with equal amount of concentration Nagisa’s arms would stretch out just a bit farther of what was considered normal, sometimes to his knees, and one especially painful time to the bone of his ankle.

Pink eyes flickered to the blue clock on the wall. 1:42 pm on a Sunday. Nagisa didn’t have any homework and couldn’t think of a better way to spend his afternoon.

He slipped the garment bag out of his closet.

 

— あなた自身のヒーローに —

 

 _“¡Socorro! ¡Auxilio! Por favor alguien ¡es una emergencia!”_ The man frantically waved his arms around, looking for anyone that might listen to him. People continued to bustle around him, more concerned with their own issues than his. New to Iwatobi, the man didn’t really know his way around and was having trouble learning the language. No one understood him or the fact that he was in some deep shit.

Nagisa came out of a nearby Starbucks, dressed in a blue sweatshirt and jeans and a macchiato in his hand. In his other hand he had his phone, which he checked for any new messages. In the middle of taking a sip of his drink for a snapchat the blonde noticed a very frenzied-looking man shouting things he couldn’t really understand.

He looked like he really needed some help.

Ducking into an alley, Nagisa slipped his gray mask from the pocket of his sweatshirt, putting it on and then sliding the garment over his head. He quickly kicked off his jeans, left standing in his gray and gold suit. Another quick sip from his macchiato, which he hid underneath his clothes along with his phone. Nagisa darted back out, approaching the man.

“Is something the matter, sir?” he asked, voice innocent and eyes kind.

 _“Mi hija, ¡se la llevaron! Un hombre, con la cara escondida. Me la quitó de los brazos y empezó a correr y ahora no sé dónde la llevará.”_ The man’s nearly black eyes looked ready to overflow with tears as he gripped Nagisa’s shoulders. They weren’t much different in height, Nagisa being maybe two inches shorter than him, and they had very similar-looking wavy hair, although his was dark brown and not blonde.

At that moment Nagisa wished he had paid a bit more attention in his Foreign Language classes when they were going over basic Spanish, because the only words he understood were _hija, hombre,_ and _correr._ With what little knowledge he had he put those three things together: daughter, man and running. The man looked very worried, so perhaps some man had taken his daughter and ran? It seemed likely.

 _“Como se llama su hija?”_ Nagisa’s terrible accent made every syllable sound exaggerated and almost silly. Why oh why hadn’t he practiced a bit more?

 _“MarÍa,_ ” said the man, his voice dropping it’s panicked tone and suddenly becoming very loving. “My girl’s name is María.” he continued, slowly and carefully, with a heavy accent that made Nagisa feel a little less bad about his terrible Spanish-speaking skills.

“I’m really sorry if you can’t understand me all the way, sir, but I promise I’ll get your María-chan back for you. You can count on me!” Nagisa smiled brightly, giving the man a very enthusiastic thumbs up. He instructed the man to stay where he was in broken Spanish before dashing off in the direction where the man said his daughter’s kidnapper had run off.

He stopped running when he came across a man trying to stuff a crying girl into a car. She had curly brown hair and was absolutely wailing, kicking wildly and flailing her arms. A sharp slap to the face quieted her down as the man shut the door.

“Hey,” said Nagisa, sauntering over and praying that he looked tall. He clenched his fists in an attempt to restrain himself from just punching that guy — kidnappers always made his stomach curl.

“What do you want, kid? Halloween’s not for another six months, get out of here.” He glared at Nagisa.

“You know what’s funny,” Nagisa leaned on the car, his eyes glancing at the girl for just a second. She was still crying, partially muffled by the closed doors and windows. “I just saw someone who told me his daughter was missing, and from what I can see, this girl does not want to be with you.”

“Whaddya implyin’ kid? That I’m the guy who kidnapped this girl? I have people to do that for me—”

Nagisa’s chest swelled up, his skin becoming hot. He felt that familiar crackling in his palms, between his fingers, and slammed the guy straight in the chest, blue electricity pumping out of his hands. He spasmed, falling straight to the ground with a heavy thud. Thankful that the car door was unlocked, Nagisa pulled it open, taking the softly hiccuping girl into his arms.  He patted down her hair and smiled brightly, whispering reassuring things to her in both Spanish and Japanese.

With María tucked safely in his arms Nagisa returned to the man from before, who sat down against the wall of the very Starbucks Nagisa had come out of not two hours ago. He had the most ecstatic look in his eyes when he saw María, more loving and joyful than any Nagisa had seen before. It gave him a very warm, happy feeling in his heart to see the kisses the father and daughter covered each other in.

 _“Muchas gracias,”_ breathed the man, and Nagisa briefly wondered if his smile would split his face in half, _“¿Que le debo llamar?”_

“Er, what should you call me?” Nagisa scratched at the back of his head sheepishly. His superhero alias was something he’d sort of come up with on the fly, and it was a little embarrassing to him. But hey, at least it had some creativity to it, better than calling himself ‘The Human Electrical Socket’ or something like that. With a laugh, a wink and a cute little finger gun Nagisa said, “I... I guess you can call me Livewire!”

 

— あなた自身のヒーローに —

 

Rei could not catch a break.

The car wasn’t even _his_ , but it broke down right on the corner of 5th and Mizuhoshi, the stupid needle clawing its way over the E as the Impala sputtered and stopped moving.

“No no nonono no _no_ ,” groaned the blunette, tapping the dash with one hand like it was going to solve anything. He raked his fingers through his hair, messing up a half hour of meticulous styling with a single swipe. Of all the days to break down, Rei’s Mom’s Old Car, today should not have been it. He knew he should have stopped at that gas station about four blocks away, but he’d been in such a hurry to get to work on time that he’d just sped right by.

Rei also hated his job. He hated working in retail, abhorred it, because working at Abercrombie was going to give him a brain hemorrhage. His coworkers were so dumb, that it physically pained Rei to even interact with them because half the time they couldn’t even comprehend what it was that he was saying. _I’m sorry you can’t read above a fifth grade level,_ he wanted to tell them, _nor understand words that exceed three syllables._ The hours were awful too — on more than one occasion he’d had to skip his last class because one of his stupid coworkers (the root of all evil) decided to call in sick when more than likely they were just too lazy to come in. Why did he even work, anyway? His parents were doing just fine on their own, if his mother’s most recent purchase of a BMW was any indicator, and he didn’t really have anything in particular he was saving up money for. Not like he was paid well anyhow.

With a huff Rei stepped out of the Impala and looked around for a store that might have a phone he could borrow, because his was dead and at this rate there was no way he would get to work on time.

He didn’t even get five feet away when a hand grabbed him roughly by the shoulder.

“Give me all your money.”

Oh, now he was getting robbed, too? Fucking _lovely._

Rei pushed up his red glasses using his thumb and middle finger in a way that was super unnecessary but also a bad habit that he couldn’t shake and sighed. He was not in the mood for any shit today, especially after getting that B plus on his Pre-Calculus test today. He turned around slowly, saying in the calmest, most reasonable voice he could muster, “Excuse me?”

“I said give me all your money, kid.” growled the man, his face obscured by a baseball cap. He didn’t look much taller than Rei, but even under his black jacket it was apparent that he could overpower Rei with ease if the teen struggled.

“I’m very sorry sir, but I am sixteen years old. I don’t have any money to give you.” Rei gently pushed  the man’s hand off his shoulder.

“Are you fucking serious?” the man’s voice sounded strange, like he had a sore throat or was just trying very hard to conceal what it actually sounded like. “You don’t have any fucking money? Fine, whatever. Give me anything of value that you might have, then.”

“I don’t have anything that you might find valuable, either.”

“Listen! I have _bills_ —shit, I mean. Don’t make this hard on yourself, kid, or you’re gonna regret it.” The air around them suddenly became very hot, uncomfortably so. It was April, and this morning it had been 50 degrees, there was absolutely no way it could have heated up to well in over 90 in only five minutes. Unless the world was ending, it was pretty much impossible.

“All right, all right!” Rei pulled at his collar a bit, and he felt sweat dripping down the side of his head. “Here. My phone. It’s dead, but that is everything I have, I promise.” He presented his smart phone to the robber, who snatched it up.

“It’s new,” he remarked, turning it over in his hand. “No scratches, not even a smudge.”

“I try to keep my things in proper condition.”

“Would you like a medal? Commemorative plaque? I hope the answer’s no, because I’m not getting you one.” The air cooled considerably. The man shoved Rei away, causing the teen to stumble slightly. “Hope I don’t see you around, Four-Eyes. Nice doing business with you.”

There was a glint of teeth as the man smirked, and before Rei could even blink he was gone in a rush of hot air.

The blunette checked his watch. He was already fifteen minutes late.

“This is, in no way, beautiful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This should be the end of the little glimpses into everyone's past and next chap will hopefully get the ball rolling!
> 
> Don't expect a super quick update, I have competitions next Saturday and this is gonna be hell week at practice 
> 
> November is just off to a great start
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Hey Satan, Just Payin' My Dues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Track No. 4** Highway to Hell | AC/DC

“Ai,” The door clicked open, Rin behind it with a plain black smart phone in his hand. “Got something else for you to sell.”

Nitori looked up from the pile of bullshit smothering his desk, Science and Literature papers strewn across the space directly in front of him. He eyed Rin curiously. “What have you got this time, senpai?”

The phone was tossed smoothly in the younger boy’s direction, who caught it with ease. He turned it over and over in his bird-boned hands. “Wow! It’s like new, senpai! Not quite the latest model but we can definitely get a good profit from it! Just give me a week and I’ll sell it no prob—”

“I’m fucking hungry,” Rin grabbed his own phone off his bed, checking the time and then readjusting his black baseball cap. “Let’s get something to eat.”

“I think the cafeteria is still open—” Nitori was once again cut off, his time by his jacket hitting him in the face. “Wah—?”

Halfway out the door, Rin said, “Let’s go get some nachos instead. Text Mikoshiba.”

Nitori obliged, his fingers tapping across the screen of his own smartphone. It too was in very nice condition, brand spanking-new having just been released not more than a week ago. No regular high school student, much less one like Nitori, would have been able to get their hands on such a thing, but the silver-haired teen’s parents had sent it to him in the mail with a lovely note attached, congratulating him on his good marks for mid-quarter. Rin remembered having scoffed at the gift, muttering something about dumb rich kids.

“Wh-where should I tell Mikoshiba-buchou to meet us, Rin-senpai?”

A pause. Then, “Downstairs. Tell him to bring a hat. You too, Ai.”

  
  


**KILL YOUR HEROES**

4

  
  


The walk to 7-11 was short, and the night wasn’t obnoxiously hot or unbearably cold, just pleasant. Rin walked with his hands in his pockets, cap pulled low over his face like usual and with an odd sway in his hips. It wasn’t something he ever tried to do, nor remembered even learning, but oh well. It’d become habit, and who was he to try and break it? It made him look like a badass.

Seijuurou, an older classmate of his and captain of the swim team that Nitori was a part of, chatted animatedly with the younger teen about something Rin didn’t really care about. Instead, he distracted himself with the finances he had to worry about this month. If the phone he’d gotten sold at as high a price Nitori promised, around one hundred fifty dollars he guessed, then it would be enough to cover his tuition at the beginning of next month. Hopefully he would a little left over to go towards the water and electric bills that—

“Oi. Matsuoka. You gonna come in?” Seijuurou held the door open for him, gesturing to the inside of the convenience store with his thumb. Rin grumbled and pushed his hands deeper into his pockets like it could really do anything. Nitori was already dispensing blue raspberry slurpee into a large cup, and Rn pulled out one of his own to fill with Coke-flavored slush. He wasn’t a huge fan of slurpees in general, especially ones as sweet as blue raspberry, but Coke ones were too good to pass up.

“Jesus, is that enough for you?” muttered Rin as Seijuurou topped his nachos will every conceivable condiment available. He’d already piled on onions, jalapenos, olives, salsa, the cheese. The older boy just laughed at him, because he knew he’d be burning off each and every calorie soon, and almost effortlessly. He needed to consume at least 5,000 a day, to rack up enough energy to support his speed.

Rin had seen him within the first week of coming home from Australia. He’d been absentmindedly igniting and extinguishing flames in his palm at a park near his elementary school one night, when he saw someone just _zoom_ by. He felt a rush of air and if he blinked he would’ve completely missed it.

"Yo," he'd called out, stopping the person just before they had gotten too far to even see. He had sauntered up to them, with that saucy tug at his lips that had people falling at his feet more often than not. "You look like you're running away from something."

"What makes you say that?" The stranger had squared his shoulders, taken a defensive stance when Rin approached. Even in the dark his presence just had this effect on people, one that screamed power and dominance. He had a shock of bright red hair, and orange colored eyes that glinted in the dim street lights.

"I'm pretty familiar with what running away looks like," Rin smirked. His lips pulled back into as inviting a smile his sharp teeth would allow. "And at the rate you were going, I'd say you're trying get away and fast."

"Why does it matter to you?" The stranger's voice became apprehensive.

Rin's eyebrows inched up, easing his face into an amused expression. "I don't really care what the hell you're running from, but I can't ignore how you're running away from it. Say, has anyone ever told you you're... 'special?' Your family maybe?"

The stranger's jaw clenched noticeably. _Guess I struck a nerve_ , thought Rin.

"My family probably couldn't care less about how special I was."

"Really?" Rin twisted concern onto his face. He snapped his fingers, a small flame blossoming onto his fingertip. "Tell me about them."

Running a hand through his hair, the stranger blew out a gush of air. He looked like he was mentally preparing himself for something very slow and very painful. "I'm the fourth out of ten kids. You really think anyone is going to pay attention to me if I broke a couple of track records in secondary school?"

"Rough," whistled Rin. "Can't say I feel you, but I didn't have it real easy as a kid either. Bullies and all that. You know what I did about them?

"What?"

"Let’s just say if you can't join 'em, beat 'em." He winked.

Ah, the smell of villainy. It didn't take a lot of coaxing, after that. Rin learned the stranger’s name was Seijuurou Mikoshiba, soon to be third year at Samezuka Academy which was, coincidentally, Rin's new school. Their crimes started out pretty small time, things like basic robbery and shoplifting. Soon enough they even recruited the roommate, Nitori. He wasn't into it as much as the other two, he sort of just tagged along because no matter who he talked to or what he asked for, people seemed to just _give_ him things. Not that he really needed anyone's charity or anything, his parents were doing just fine and Nitori lived a pretty comfortable life before being shipped out. At least, in the material sense.

Rin remembered Nitori having confessed that he chose to leave home, to leave the suffocation of his mom and dad and just be free to live his own life. To finally do something because he wanted to, not because he felt like he had to cater to others. Stupid Nitori, always a people pleaser. It kind of confused Rin, who never really gave a damn about what  others thought of him, that someone would go to such great lengths for someone that wasn't themselves. Then again, he wasn't one to talk when more than half the money he got through his various means went back to mom.

"Senpai, is something the matter?" Nitori blinked at him with those large crystal blue eyes of his.

"No. Why?"

Seijuurou popped the lid back on his nachos, steam collecting on it quickly. "You just seem really out of it today, Matsuoka. Quit thinking about your girlfriends."

Rin responded with a glare. He picked up both his and Nitori's boxes in one hand and held his slurpee in the other, walking over to the counter to pay. The other followed suit. Rin couldn't help the small smirk that made its way onto his face as he watched Nitori approach the cashier, making no motions to pull out a wallet or any other form of payment. Instead, the younger boy cleared his throat, and that normally higher-pitched, almost timid voice lowered a bit, laced with something very persuasive and absolutely impossible to identify. When he spoke to the cashier in that voice, her eyes glazed over, dreamy. She agreed with whatever it was Nitori was telling her, although Rin greatly doubted she was even listening.

"Have a nice day," she told them in a detached voice as the three teens walked out, free food now in their possession.

"You know," Rin sucked up some Coke slurpee, "It’s kind of ironic."

"What do you mean, Rin-senpai? What’s ironic?"

"You’ve got the fuckin’ ability to just say you want something and you’ll get it, but you can do that anyway by asking your mommy and daddy.”

Nitori began to blush, sucking on his straw a bit harder than what was necessary. He sputtered, "Th-that's not true! I wouldn't get _anything_ I wanted, and certainly not without some actual bargaining first..."

"He's just giving you a hard time,  Nitori! Don't stress about it!" Seijuurou clapped him on the back, laughing loudly. Nitori, who still looked flustered, didn't reply, opting instead to just stuff some chips into his mouth.

The trio continued to walk down the street, eating and drinking simultaneously as people rushed by, eager to get to their jobs and their homes and their favorite places to shop. That was the thing about Iwatobi; it was never completely quiet or still. There was always something happening, someone still bustling about. What had apparently started out as a small port town quickly grew into a huge seaside city, one of the biggest in the area with a population of almost eight hundred thousand. But even through the endless amount of activity surrounding them, something out of the corner of Rin's eye caught his attention.

They were in a slightly less crowded part of the city, right outside downtown and near the high school. Across the street, in the school's courtyard were a couple of kids, around Rin's own age if he had to guess. One of them was big, like Seijuurou big, and had the other guy pinned down underneath him with his hands around his neck. He assumed they were in some sort of fight, finding it hard to tear his eyes away from the altercation. Not noticing he'd stopped in his tracks, Rin watched in silent awe as the bigger of the two seemed to just _crush_ that other kid with his bare hands, before getting up to dust himself off and walk away like nothing had even happened. The redhead took note of his sandy brown hair and tan skin, being too far to really make out an eye color or distinguishing facial features.

"Zoning out _again?_ Shit, pull it together Matsuoka. That's the second time in an hour." Mikoshiba had plowed through his food, having discarded it in the trash can nearby.

"Shut the hell up—I was looking over there," said Rin, pointing to the courtyard where he'd seen the fight. "I saw some guys fighting, and you should've fucking seen 'em. One of them was pretty big, and just threw the second one around like a rag doll."

"So? It's just a schoolyard fight. They happen all the time."

"No you don't get it," Rin wasn't quite sure why he was getting so excited over this. "Strength like that didn't come from the gym. If you ask me, I think he’s a Super."

Nitori's eyes widened. "A—a Super, senpai? Are you s-sure?" He was a little wary of other Supers apart from the ones he worked with, because so far the only ones he'd met always wanted to hurt them or send them to jail. It wasn't like he didn't know why, he did, but he just didn't think it was a hundred percent necessary. Besides, why should he be the one to also go to prison, he never actually stole anything, that was all Rin and Mikoshiba. Unless you count that time he acquired that getaway car through very questionable means...

"Fuck yeah I'm fucking sure, Ai. _Potentia pura,_ if he's only got super strength going for him. Haven't seen one of those in a while." The smirk that made its way across Rin's lips was ominous. "If any of you see him around, make sure he talks to me. We could use someone like that."

"Right!"

"Got it."

"Good. All right, enough messing around. It's time we get down to business."

 

— あなた自身のヒーローに —

 

"Oh no," was the first thing the bank teller said, a slightly older woman who was really anything but ready to take this kind of shit today. The very second that boy dressed in all black with a baseball hat pulled low over his face with two others donning very similar outfits behind him approached her desk, she knew that today was not going to end well. What a shame, her shift was going to end in about an hour, too.

She grimaced as the boy approached her desk, placing his elbows upon it and supporting his head in his hands while he looked up at her with deceitfully innocent red eyes.

He blinked at her and smiled that shark-toothed smile. “Hello, Usagi. Do you know what I want?”

The bank teller defiantly crossed her arms. She glared down her nose at the boy. “Scram, Wildfire. You are not getting away with your scheme this time. I’ve already called the police.” A smug smile presented itself on her thin, ruby-painted lips. Wildfire had the potential to be a nice boy, he really did, if he would just stop with the whole ‘villain’ thing. It slightly pained her everytime he came to steal all the bank’s money, because calling the police on him was like calling them on her sweet grandson, who would never hurt a fly.

Rin drew back, mock hurt etched on his features. Briefly he adjusted his cap before turning to the other two, his accomplices. Usagi liked them too; they were also very polite boys who never manhandled her during their kidnapping stunts.

“Oi, Velocity,” he pointed to the tallest teenager. “Check the perimeter, we got cops on the way. Tenor, come up here.”

Nitori stepped closer to Rin and Usagi while Seijuurou left in a blur. Unlike the other two, he had on a black beanie. It didn’t do a whole lot in terms of hiding his face, but at least not much of his hair was visible.

Rin nodded to Usagi. “Our friend isn’t being very cooperative today,” was all he said.

Nitori nodded. He stepped right in front of the teller, on the other side of the desk, and tilted his head with a smile. With a clearing of his throat, the small tickle he always felt immediately went away.

Show time.

“Usagi-san, are you _sure_ you don’t want to give us some money today? There really isn’t any need to bring the police into this—”

“Freeze!”

Rin and Nitori stiffened, while Usagi let out a sigh of relief. She watched as the boys sighed in what seemed like defeat, and turned around slowly.

“I said freeze!” The policeman held his gun with two hands, a determined look in his eyes. He’d been in this specific situation many times before.

“Senpai,” whispered Nitori fervently. He always got nervous when they were on business.

“Shut up,” hissed Rin in reply.

“B-but where is Mikoshiba? He was supposed to—”

“Shut _up,_ ” Rin insisted, and pinched Nitori to keep him quiet. “I’ve got this.”

“I—said—freeze!” The cop cried once more, jabbing the gun at them with each word. “That means don’t move, idiots!”

Stepping forward, Rin put up his hands defensively. “Hey man, let’s not get rude here.”

The cop looked flat our exasperated. He threw up his arms. “Didn’t you hear me? I _said_ —”

“I got it,” said Rin, rolling his eyes. He clenched and unclenched his hands. _“Freeze.”_

Jets of flame spurted from his palms, completely covering the villain’s adversary. He yowled, wildly trying to pat out his flaming uniform. Another policeman ran to his side, fire extinguisher in hand, and doused him in its contents.

When the fire was out, he wiped the fluid off his face, and saw that the damn kids were gone.

“Holy shit, Kamogawa, are you okay?!”

“M’fine,” growled Kamogawa. His face was intact, the worst of the damage being on his clothing. He picked furiously at the charred fabric. “Goddamn things aren’t flame retardant. Clearly, this is beyond us. _Again._ Call in the big guns.”

“Yes sir!”

As the younger, newer policeman rushed off, Kamogawa mumbled under his breath, “Damn Supers are going to put me out of commission. Why do we even _have_ a police force in this city?”

 

— あなた自身のヒーローに —

 

“I told you I’ve got this, Ai,” huffed Rin as they ran through the streets. Seijuurou had grabbed them after Rin set the cop on fire for a quick getaway. They left off a few blocks from the bank, and were now fleeing on foot. Seijuurou had slowed down significantly for them, going at a very slow jog.

“Sorry I doubted you, Rin-senpai,” replied Nitori, panting. "But it was a really close call this time."

"Would you two hurry up? I'm practically standing still here!" Ahead of them by at least three meters was Seijuurou, looking not the least bit winded and almost bored. Mentally, Rin rolled his eyes, because didn't he understand that normal people didn't run at speeds of some 200 miles an hour and feel completely fine? Clearly not, the douchebag.

Picking up his pace a little, Rin retorted with, "Hold your fuckin' horses, we're coming."

"No wait!" cried Nitori. He stopped in his tracks, bending over with his hands on his knees and wheezing. His mouth was slick, but his throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and that stitch in his side was painful. "Let... let me... catch my... breath..."

A siren sounded in the distance. Police.

Rin shook his head. He approached Nitori, lightly smacking him on his silver haired head before crouching down slightly. "Get on, we can't afford you keeping us back."

"R-Rin-senpai!" Pink crawled up into Nitori's face.

"Just get on." Rin insisted. He felt arms wrap themselves around his neck as his sidekick hoisted himself up on Rin's back, hooking his legs together for extra security. "Good. Let's go!"

They had just barely turned the corner on 17th and Grenway when they were stopped. From the sky, it seemed, dropped a boy not much older than Rin himself. He fell with such force that in the asphalt dents were left by his feet.

"Ow," he muttered, shifting his weight between them. Then, as if remembering where he was, the boy squared his shoulders and let out a very long, tired sigh. "Stop... whatever crime you committed."

Rin's lip curled in disgust. He narrowed his eyes at the new adversary, who was wearing only a pair of black jammers striped in purple. "Oh," he sneered, "It's you." Nitori slipped of off Rin's back, landing a little unsteadily on his feet, and rushed off to Seijuurou's side. The older boy had his arms crossed, eyebrow raised and gave Nitori a knowing look.

Almost imperceptibly, the other boy narrowed his eyes as well. "Don't sound too excited."

"You're funny. Hahaha." Rin gave a mocking smile that was really just him baring his teeth. His laugh, also mocking, was high pitched and almost terrifying. "Get outta here, Hydro. No one wants you."

"You should take your own advice." Haru stepped forward, a small ball of water already churning in his hand. "Or do you want a repeat of May sixteenth?"

Rin growled. Around him, the air began to fluctuate with the rapidly increasing heat coming from his body, and his eyes flickered with resolve. "We agreed to never bring that up! I was sick that day, and your little rainstorm didn't fucking help." He punctuated his last couple of words with finger jabs at Haru.

Haru looked almost amused, one eyebrow cocked at the redhead in front of him. The ball continued to grow, and Haru curled his fingers around it. It stretched out, becoming long and whip like. He snapped his arm, sending the water whip forward and making contact with Rin. There was a loud sizzling as it made contact with his skin.

"Shit! Damn, okay, you're not playing today are you?" Rin recoiled, before retaliating with his own large column of flame. He watched as Haru brought up a shield to extinguish the blaze, jaw clenching. "Guess I won't play either."

He snapped his fingers, and was immediately engulfed in a vortex of fire. When it dissipated, Rin was gone. Confused, Haru looked to the the left, to the right, down and then up. He was met with the image of Rin.

“Gotcha!” The redhead did a front flip, thrusting his feet onto Haru’s chest in a powerful kick that sent him flying. Haru could feel his back digging into the asphalt, leaving a shallow trail in his wake. He stopped when his head made painful contact with a building.

Why was it that Rin seemed to only get better every time they faced off? It was either that, or Haru was just getting worse with time; only seventeen and already too old for this. Haru brought a hand to the back of his head, rubbing briefly at the tender spot before rising to his feet. The rough side of the building scraped his palm as he supported himself.

The corners of Rin’s lips twitched in suppressed laughter. It wasn’t like Haru to put up so little of a fight — the idiot was just wasting his time trying to beat him. In fact, it was kind of funny.

“What’s the matter? Can’t take the heat?” Rin chuckled at his own joke, a small tongue of fire dancing in his palm.

Haru rolled his eyes very obviously, and in the background Seijuurou and Nitori groaned. In a poorly disguised coughing fit, Seijuurou muttered something that sounded very similar to “Cough that was really bad cough cough cough.”

“You talk too much,” came Haru’s reply, and a bitter chill fell upon them. He blew needles of ice from his mouth directly at Rin, briefly distracting him enough for Haru to deliver a swift chop to other’s stomach. Rin doubled over, groaning because, _damn that actually hurt wow okay calm down Jackie Chan I didn’t actually steal anything—_

“Pfft, what happened to your “abs of steel” Matsuoka?” snorted Mikoshiba behind his fist.

Turning so quickly it kind of hurt his neck, Rin growled, “Are you going to just fucking stand there and make fun of me, or help me here?”

Nitori stood up straight as a rod at Rin’s words, eager to please his senpai. “Right! Sorry!” Hands up defensively, he rushed in front of Rin.

“Please Hydro-san, would you mind letting us go just this one time? Please?”

He probably would’ve said more, had it not been for Haru muffling his mouth and pushing him away to get back to Rin. “You talk too much too.” he said, and threw a punch.

It caught Rin square in the jaw, but he quickly recovered and returned the blow, just grazing the side of the black-haired teen’s head. He lifted his leg in an attempt to kick, but instead of hitting flesh it felt like he just shoved it in a bucket of water.

“God— _frickin_ —frick! He did it again!” he cried, glaring daggers at the puddle of water before him. It was so fucking annoying whenever Haru did that, just dissolve into water. It infuriated him, because what kind of crime-fighting douche just ran away from his villain like that? That sure wasn’t any fun, especially for Rin, who got a kick out of facing off someone like Haru. Ever since he decided that being the bad guy was a lot better than being the good one, Rin never really had anyone who could match him like Haru, but lately Haru seemed to be evading him more and more. Where else was Rin supposed to exert all of his pent-up energy?

Having spent too much time fuming, Rin failed to notice the fact that Mikoshiba had run off and taken Nitori (because the kid would never leave Rin on his own accord) and that the police sirens they’d heard earlier were now closer than ever.

Close, as in right in front of his eyes.

“Alright Wildfire, put your hands up. You’re under arrest.”

Rin obliged, the air too humid from Haru’s leftovers for him to really conjure up any sort of fire. He sighed.

“Great.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol rememeber when I didn't update for a month yeah I'm so sorry but I hope that this is long enough to make up for it and I seriously promise that it will not take that long next time like really wow I'm so sorry
> 
> thank you for putting up with me and reading this <3 hope you enjoyed~

**Author's Note:**

> Ending notes are always easier than beginning ones, if you ask me. And yes, Haru does, in fact, fight crime in his jammers. There's a reason behind it, I swear.
> 
>  
> 
> _(the more you know)_


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